All Children
by Sickle Sword
Summary: Fragments of life as a hunter throughout the years from Dean's perspective. When life give you zombies, make a zombie-soup.


Something that sat in my hardriver for quite a while, and now that I've found it, couldn't ignore its pleas to be free. Title stolen from Peter Pan.

All children, except one, grow up

The first time his dad told him what a brainwash was, he laughed. He thought he freaked his dad out, 8 years old and far older than he should be.

"One day, Dean, you won't be able to resist it. A good mind control doesn't _ask _you to listen, but makes you want to. Most of the time, you don't even realize that it's happening. "

"I won't want to listen to others, I promise." He said in a feverish honesty only an 8 years old can master. "Never. Only to you, dad."

Dad smiled. "That's good. You know what they say about promises, Dean?"

"That you can never ever break them."

"That's right, kiddo."

"Otherwise bad things will happen." He whispered solemnly.

"What?" his dad startled, and smiled softly, this time ruffling his hair, like one does to a child. "Who told you that?"

"I promised Mom I'll clean my room in the morning she… and I didn't! That's breaking a promise, right?"

He saw his dad hesitating, weighting his words carefully. "Dean, that's not your fault. Sometimes bad things just happen."

There are so many things he wanted to say. Wanted to say "I'm sorry" and "I love you" and "don't leave me." And also "I hate you, because you made mom angry in that morning." And "you should have been there."

He wanted to say so many things, but he just said "ok."

He promised mom he wouldn't be angry about dad, and he hoped that maybe if from now on he tried to be really good and keep all of his promises, no one else would get hurt because of him.

* * *

To most kids adolescence is a rite of passage. He had his when his was 10.

Dad took him to a hunt and as a celebration of his birthday; he was in charge of burning the bones. He knew already how to light the match; they practiced forever at home, and how to spread the salt in just the right amount- not too much, because they never know when they're going to need to burn an extra grave, but enough to make sure every bone burnt.

So when he heard his dad screaming "Now, Dean!", he hurried to pour the salt and the gasoline. But when he lit the match, his hand shook.

He never told his father, but he was afraid of fire.

"Dean!" his dad ran towards him, angry.

He wanted to throw the match and burn the bones. To save the day, and to be a hero, too. To make his father proud. Instead, he stared at the small fire that was dancing in his hand, and getting so near to his finger that he could almost smell his skin burn. The flame was calling for him. _I took your mom, I'll take your dad and Sammy and everyone you've ever loved and_ …

He heard a loud cry as the ghost appeared behind his dad and threw him backwards. Even from afar, he could hear the sound of his dad's bones breaking.

He snapped out of the song of the fire, and threw the match away. "You won't take them," He swore. He saw the ghost lit from within and then shrivel up and disappear. It was beautiful and awe-striking and horrible. And all along, through the tears, all he could see was his mom burning on the nursery ceiling.

* * *

When he was 12, Sammy started coming with them to the haunts. At first, Dean didn't want him to be there. It was dangerous, and Sammy might get hurt, he pleaded his father. But dad shrugged, like he didn't even care, and told him that it was his job to keep an eye on Sammy, to keep him safe.

So he did, he kept him safe. When the ghost came rushing toward him, and Sammy froze, he got between his little brother and the pissed off ghost, like a goddamn Schwarzenegger, no less. He taunted the ghost, because he was blessed with a potty mouth, and managed to piss it enough so it stirred away from Sammy.

He shouted "You ugly bitch! No wonder your kids hurried to get the fuck away from you…" and screamed with fake bravado "really?! That's the best you've got?" and yelled "you know you deserve what happened!" and he heard the truth ringing in his words. Only, somehow when they were thrown to the space, he knew that they were actually meant for him. Even as a child he was big and strong and had that _attitude_ that made kids want to hurry to get away from his way. And most of the time he liked it. He didn't dare to admit, not even to himself, that sometimes it hurt.

He also always tried to do his best, but somehow that was never enough. He wasn't enough. But most of all- he knew he deserved everything. Because if dad was the compass- instructing which way to go and Sam was the north- the purpose of everything, he knew he's the needle. Spin him in whatever direction you want, and he'd follow you to the end of the world. And he tried, he really tried to do everything they wanted, but sometimes- it was too hard. (_Years later when he was drunk, he told Sam this theory. The sentimental prick had tears, and said that the needle is essential- without it; no one knows __**how**__ to get north. Funny, he never thought about it like that)._

Then, just before he thought he was screwed for sure, the woman screamed. Long and awful, too loud for it to be earthly. With a last long look, she went away.

He didn't know if this was something he said that made the difference, or maybe dad did something to make her leave. But she was gone. They were safe.

Of course, later, when Sammy wasn't there, they hunted the bitch down and made sure she didn't hurt anyone else.

Even years later, whenever the weather changed, he could still feel the ache in his hip where the ghost shattered it. He never said anything because, well, it's a war wound. And it was worth it. He thought his dad looked at him differently afterwards, like someone he might one day be able to trust enough to protect their family. Dad also took him more and more to haunts, and once when there were humans involved, he even let him play the decoy.

* * *

Every person reaches a stage in life when he starts to question everything that he once believed.

He was never allowed to question.

* * *

Then started the shouting matches between Sammy and dad, each trying to make the other understand but speaking in a completely different language.

Sammy believed that everything in their lives was screwed up. The constant moving from place to place, from school to school. The kid hated it when they had to stay home when it was dark and had to follow dad's every rule as if it was engraved in stones. Most of all, Sam hated hunting, and for the life of him, that the one thing Dean could never understand. All the rules became null and void in those nights when they went after wendigos and ghosts. It was a time when you could stop thinking about your day to day failures, and start feeling like a hero. Sometimes, Dean thought that maybe Sam just wasn't that good in hunting, so to him hunting was just like school was to Dean.

And dad, well, in the beginning he tried to reason with Sammy, repeating over and over the family mantra of saving the innocents. Dean knew right from the start that it wouldn't work. Sammy was too stubborn for that. And then he just kindda gave up and told him that if he didn't want to go, he doesn't have to.

Not even once Sam too that liberty. Because he, too, knew that if he's not there, then there was no one to watch Dean's back.

* * *

But one day, just like that, he wasn't there anymore to watch Dean's back.


End file.
